Deeper Than Blood
by Fyrie
Summary: Short series: Taking in the child of Owen's stepbrother, Owen and Beru Lars find that raising the child of the once Jedi isn't as simple as they hoped it would be. Spoilers for Episodes 1, 2, 3 & 4
1. Chapter 1

With the descent of the twin suns, the evening was growing chillier by the moment, the gold hues of the day awash with silver as night took hold, distant spots of starlight flickering against the deep black of the sky.

"Take him in," Owen murmured, gently rubbing a hand against the centre of his wife's back. "It'll be too cold if we stay out here with him just now."

Beru nodded, without even glancing at him, her attention focused on the child gently cradled in her arms, wrapped snugly in rough blankets. She had barely even paid heed to the sunset, which was rare. Even after twenty years, she still loved to watch the twin suns disappearing beyond the horizon.

Stepping down from the overhang of their almost hidden home, she made her way towards the main doors, cooing softly to the baby, looking happier than Owen had seen her for a long time.

Exhaling a sigh, Owen followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight, folding his arms over his chest. His gaze drifted out across the barren sands surrounding the moisture farm, which had been his home since before he could remember, watching the distant shadow moving away, the shadow that had delivered their little blessing.

They had received notice only a day before the baby had arrived, a curt message informing them of the death of his stepbrother and the mother of the child, that the child had nowhere else to go.

_He_ had received the message.

If Beru hadn't overheard it, he wasn't sure what he would have done. If she hadn't heard, maybe he could have refused, but she had heard and her face – thin and pale and tired – had lit up, so radiant and so beautiful for the first time in so long, and he had known, in that moment, that he couldn't have refused her anything.

Shivering slightly, he stepped down onto the gritty sand, making his way back across the short distance to the steps of his home, slipping into the gloomy hall and flicking the door control.

It hissed shut behind him, leaving him standing for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the dimness of the building. The small glo-panels buzzed softly, crackling, as he passed, ducking through a doorway and descending the small flight of stairs into the open courtyard.

Pausing to power down the generators, he heard several of the other doors slide closed, locking them in from the dangers of the desert and the night, of which there were many.

Strange that the man who had delivered the boy to them had refused to stay. He had just smiled at Beru, politely refused, saying he would live nearby, should they require any help with the child.

That in itself had been odd, but then – Owen mused – Anakin Skywalker had been a strange young man, even if he had been a Jedi, so it seemed likely his friends would be strange as well.

There was something unsettling about the man, in his long, mysterious cloak and hood, his face almost hidden. He had come, handed the baby to Beru, not even waiting to speak with Owen, before leaving. He had moved like a shadow and now, thinking on it, Owen could remember nothing about him, save a lingering memory of a name; Obi? Oben-wan? Obi-Wan?

Yes! That was it Obi-Wan Kenobi. That had been the name in the message.

Not that it was important, really. If the man was going to be living close by, it wouldn't be too much of a challenge to seek him out. Everyone in the Anchorhead region knew one another, so a stranger wouldn't go unnoticed.

Shaking his head, Owen started up the steps into the living quarters, not entirely surprised to see Beru still standing by the makeshift cradle. It was little more than a basket woven from wires and cables, padded lovingly by pillows, which Beru had spent the previous day feverishly making.

They had never expected to need a cradle, not now or in the future.

Beru loved children, had cared for her sister's, her neighbours, had been looking forward to the day when she could have her own, but the medi-droids and physicians had been – harshly, in Owen's opinion – honest and told her that she would never be able to bear a child.

They had found out after barely a year of marriage, after she had been taken ill six months earlier. It had broken Beru's heart, which – in turn – had left Owen feeling hollow. He couldn't bear to see her hurting. More than anything, he had known she wanted to be a mother.

It was another reason he couldn't have refused the child whom she now watched over.

Approaching, stripping off his sand-blasted tunic, he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her cheek softly. Her hands covered his, her head tilting, her temple resting against his.

"He looks so peaceful," she murmured, squeezing his fingers. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Owen surveyed the infant. The boy, Luke, was laid on his back, small fists worked free of his blankets and curled stubbornly on either side of his head. A few dark wisps of hair crowned his head, his rosy lips emitting quiet gurgles and bubbles.

"Are they meant to be that small?" he asked doubtfully.

Seldom around children in his youth, he was hoping that he would be allowed to leave the raising of the boy to Beru. He knew how to deal with adults, but these little miniature people, so dependant and weak, he was sure he would break by accident.

Beru laughed. "He's small," she agreed. "But he's going to grow." She reached down to tug the blanket more fully over the boy's small body, apparently oblivious to the fond expression, which had crept onto her husband's face. "And he's sleeping now…"

Mock-alarm crossed Owen's face. "They don't normally sleep?"

Again, she laughed, turning to see the teasing glint in Owen's eyes. "Now, you're just being silly," she chastised fondly, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek. Her expression turned serious. "It won't be easy for him out here."

"I survived it," Owen said with a small smile, drawing back and taking one of Beru's hands in his. "And his father lived here before he went roaming. I think he'll be all right."

Glancing back at the cradle, Beru nodded. "Poor baby," she murmured, "Having no parents…"

"But now," Owen noted, squeezing her fingers. "He has you."

"Us," Beru corrected, turning that warm smile on him again.

A faint smile caught one side of his mouth and he nodded. "Us," he agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

Moving the stack of power convertors, Beru frowned. She replaced it, moved the next, jostled some datafilms loose, but still, there was no sign of the driver she had been looking for all morning.

It was needed to access the input terminal to take a readout of the successful harvests from the outskirts of the farm, which needed to be cross-checked before Owen could make his way into Anchorhead, or even as far as Mos Eisley, to start trade again.

Without it, there would be a delay which could cost them a significant amount, so she was searching, had been since dawn.

In the yard outside, Owen was rattling around with the towering central vaporator, doing the best he could with the tools he had, occasionally swearing under his breath when the ancient piece of machinery refused to co-operate with his instructions.

With a fond glance out of the open doorway, Beru shook her head. He would never learn that shouting at the machinery would do nothing to help, but it seemed to make him feel better, especially when it had been leaving his knuckles scraped and his temper frayed.

She turned her attention back to her task, exhaling a quiet breath. She didn't even have to look up when there was a shuffle of footsteps moving from sand-scattered steps onto the smooth floor of the kitchen.

"So you finally decided to get up, did you, sleepyhead?" she said, placing aside the last stack of datafilms before turning and smiling at her fostered child, who was standing in the doorway, rubbing his blue eyes, his hair tousled, his slight body draped in one of Owen's oversized shirts.

"I had to carry real heavy things yesterday," he said solemnly. "My arms wanted to sleep more."

Beru tried to hide a smile when she glanced at him. "Your _arms_ wanted to sleep more, did they?" she said, sifting through the shelves. "Are you sure it wasn't you that wanted to sleep more too?"

Luke blinked up at her, all innocence. "Uh-huh! I wanted to get up and help, but it was my arms!"

Laughing, his aunt approached and squatted down in front of him. "Well, let me see these lazy arms of yours then," she said, taking one of his hand and lifting his arm up. Luke covered his mouth with his other hand, giggling, as she tickled her fingers along the bare skin. "Ah... yes, I see... these arms are _very_ lazy."

"Told you!" Luke squeaked from between his fingers, his eyes dancing.

"And would these lazy arms be too tired to help your not-lazy-mouth eat breakfast?" Beru asked, tilting her head and giving him a serious look. "Because if they are as lazy as you say, I guess I'll have to feed your breakfast to the sand beetles..."

Luke looked horrified. "I'll make them wake up!" he exclaimed. "They're hungry too!"

Straightening up, Beru smoothed his hair with a smile. "I thought you might," she said, giving him a gentle push towards the table in the centre of the room. "You sit down and I'll see what I can get for you to eat."

Scurrying over to the table, the four year old scrambled up onto one of the chairs, kneeling up and slapping his hands down eagerly on the table. "Is there tona bread?" he demanded, eyes alight. "I like tona bread!"

Beru made a great show of raking through the refrigeration cabinet, then turned, bearing a plate and a pale white jug.

"And I think there might even have some gother nectar!" she said, unable to smother a chuckle when Luke squealed and clapped his hands. The sweet, transparent gold syrup was one of his favourite breakfast treats, especially poured on a cake of flat, soft, tona bread.

Unfortunately, both items were among the more expensive foodstuffs available in Anchorhead, so they could only indulge in them perhaps two or three days of a month, if things weren't going too badly.

Setting the plate down in front of the blond-haired boy, Beru glanced to be sure Owen was occupied as she poured the syrup over the chilled bread, putting a finger to her lips as she added an extra trickle of the syrup. Biting on his lower lip, eyes wide, Luke pressed his own finger to his lips and nodded.

Winking, Beru replaced the jug in the refrigerator cabinet and left Luke to tuck into the sweet and sticky breakfast with great relish. His spoon was clattering on his plate as she knelt down and started looking under the kitchen cupboards.

"Any luck?"

Both women and child looked around as Owen re-entered the kitchen, looking more than a little frustrated. He was wiping oil-stained hands on a scrap of cloth, one of his knuckles bleeding from a deep scratch.

Beru shook her head. "I've tried on top of everything," she replied. "I'm just starting to look under it all."

"Look for what?" Luke piped up, around a mouthful of bread.

Rubbing his brow with his capacious sleeve, Owen gave his nephew a look. "Have you been playing with my tools again, Luke?" he growled.

It had been known before. A borrowed hydrospanner had been used to adjust the household power convertors, leaving them baking in the middle of the day and freezing in the middle of the night, while the vaporators shut down entirely.

A week's worth of water had been lost, which had resulted in a drastic drop in income, and for a time, Beru had been forced to divide her own food between herself and Luke without complaint, to ensure the boy something to eat.

Frustrated and tired, Owen had turned on Luke angrily and the boy had hidden behind Beru and whispered that he was only trying to help, before promising never to touch his uncle's tools again without permission.

This time, the boy blushed deeply, shaking his head. Owen folded his arms, gazed down steadily at him. "Are you sure?"

"You got mad last time," Luke mumbled, poking at his plate with the spoon.

Owen sighed, then nodded. "Yes, I did," he agreed quietly. He circled the table, mussing Luke's hair in passing. "You know better now, don't you?"

"Yes, uncle Owen," Luke nodded, looking timidly up at his uncle. "What did you lose?"

Tilting one of the moveable cabinets and glancing under it, Owen didn't even look at the boy as he replaced the small container stack on the floor. "The driver for accessing the data panel on the central vaporator."

"It's there."

Beru and Owen both turned to see Luke pointing at the two lockers Beru had been looking under, his eyes oddly unfocussed.

"What?" Owen snorted.

"I've looked there, Luke," Beru said more gently, giving her husband a chastising look.

She could understand why he was agitated. If they were even a day late to the Mos Eisley water-trade market, it would reduce their profit and they had already had enough problems trying to keep all of them fed on the income made at the last sale.

"Nuh-uh," the boy said, still pointing. "It fell down. It's in the middle."

Shaking her head, Beru eased her fingers between the gap separating the two cabinets, pushed them apart, then went still. "Did you see it fall down here, Luke?" she asked, her voice suddenly soft with confusion.

The boy looked up. He had returned to the pleasantly sticky task of squashing his bread into the syrup and blinked at her, clearly bemused. "Huh?"

"Did you see the driver fall down between the cabinets?" Beru repeated, straightening up with the delicate driver held in her hand. She hastily crossed the floor, handed it to Owen, her eyes imploring him to let her wheedle the situation from the boy.

Luke shook his head and licked the spoon, before frowning thoughtfully. "I just knowed it was there," he said with a shrug.

Again, Owen snorted, starting back towards the doorway. "How could you just _know_ it was there?" he demanded, halting in the doorway. "Did you knock it down and not tell anyone? If you did, that was lying."

Luke looked like he was about to burst into tears at the accusation. "I didn't tell lies!" he protested, staring wildly from his aunt to his uncle. "I just knowed! I thinked 'where would it be?' and-and-and… it felt like it would be down the middle!"

"It… _felt_ like it would be in the middle?" Owen echoed, his eyes darting from the boy's worried face to Beru's. Her hands were clasped together in front of her and she hurriedly moved to stand behind the boy, gently wrapping her arms around him.

Luke was still staring up at his uncle, his lower lip trembling. "Uh-huh…" he mumbled. "I didn't tell lies."

Beru could see that her husband wanted to push for more information, wanted to know _how_ the boy had done what he had just claimed to do, but she could also tell that Luke was afraid of getting shouted at again.

"Owen," she said softly, shaking her head. "The vaporators. See to them. We can talk about it later."

He hesitated, then nodded, though when he withdrew into the yard, his eyes were still warily fixed on Luke's face. The boy sniffled, bowing his head over his food, prodding the sticky mass around the plate with his spoon.

Kissing the top of Luke's head, Beru drew a chair close to his, sitting down beside him, her arm still around his shoulders. She was unsurprised when the child dropped his spoon and climbed over onto her lap and wrapped his arms around her neck.

"He's mad at me again, isn't he?" he mumbled, his voice trembling.

Embracing him, Beru kissed his brow, his temples, lifted a hand to smooth his hair. "It's not you, Luke," she said tenderly. "Uncle Owen is just worried about the harvest this year. The farm is taking a lot of work and he thought he had lost that driver." She sighed. "He's just worried we won't have enough credits to have enough food."

"But he thought I done it," Luke whispered against her shoulder and she could feel the sticky warmth of his cheek against her neck, hot and wet with barely crushed down tears. "I just telled him where the driver was."

"I know, little one, I know," Beru crooned, gently rocking him. "Uncle Owen is just very tired today. It's been a long month and he wants to finish the data today so we can all get some rest." She sat back a little, waiting until Luke turned teary eyes up to her. "You want to be able to go out on the speeder with uncle Owen more, don't you? You want to go and see the wild bantha herds on the dune sea?"

Sniffing, Luke nodded. "I just don't like it when he gets mad," he mumbled.

Beru wrapped her arms more snugly around him and rested her cheek against his unruly, sandy hair.

"I know, Luke," she murmured sadly, remembering a time when Owen had been less burdened by the hardships of the farm, when the market was better, when there was less competition, when they were both younger and more carefree. "I don't either."


End file.
